


Ruin

by rainy_fangirl



Series: songfics [1]
Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Background Relationships, Character Study, Desperation, F/M, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, I'm Bad At Titles, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Messy, No Plot/Plotless, Past Relationship(s), Post-Departure, Relationship Study, Self-Reflection, Song Lyrics, Songfic, Switzerland, background omelia, cristina-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-18 13:24:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11875413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainy_fangirl/pseuds/rainy_fangirl
Summary: "It isn’t fair and it isn’t right..."Try not to think about him, do it anyways, regret it, repeat.





	Ruin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A donation to the #bring cristina back 2k17 community](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=A+donation+to+the+%23bring+cristina+back+2k17+community).



_ {I know that I can’t have it all _

_ But without you I am afraid I’ll fall _

_ I know I’m playing with your heart _

_ And I could treat you better but I’m not that smart} _

She bit back a shuddering gasp, watching her new, expensive Swiss ceiling fan spin. Owen had hated fans when they’d first met. Cristina wasn’t supposed to be thinking about him, all part of the ‘new country, new me’ propaganda she’d been repeating since taking the job. Try not to think about him, do it anyways, regret it, repeat. It was too much, way too much. It only took moving to Switzerland to understand why Meredith had drowned herself, God, she wished they had basement vents here, or time travel. All Cristina wanted was to go back in time, kiss away the faults, work things out, Hell, she’d have his children just to get back to before. After all, what was the use of cutting open hearts if your own refused to leave Seattle?

_ {When it comes to love, you’re an easy fight _

_ A flower in a gun, a bird in flight _

_ It isn’t fair and it isn’t right _

_ To lead you on like it’s all alright} _

After too many whiskey-driven contemplations, she had pinpointed the moment when everyone had fallen to shit. He’d told her how he’d expected her to grow up, come around. She didn’t want a family, something silly to fight over now. Cristina had told him before, she needed him to breathe, Owen was her oxygen. Their first kiss had opened up this wound, a need for something she hadn’t allowed herself to think of since Meredith had taken off that goddamn necklace. 

“I’m free.”

Those words had tasted so much better when it had been Burke. Seeing him now was bittersweet and constant, a thorn in her side versus the bullet Owen had left in her chest. Cristina would, decidedly pretend. If she could run to him now, get on a plane, whatever it took. But there was research to do and hearts to mend, hearts that weren’t her own. She would pretend; that Burke didn’t exist, that he didn’t leave her with too many commitment fears to mention. Cristina would imagine that Owen would be waiting for her once she got off work, that she wouldn’t wake up alone, the lingering brush of cold steel against her temple. She would pretend.

_ {I played with your heart _

_ And I could treat you better but I’m not that smart _

_ You still mean everything to me _

_ But I wanna be free} _

The sun was now rising over Zurich, the fan was still spinning. She suffered through a call to the Institute, to tell them that she couldn’t come in for work that day, something Cristina struggled to make clear in her stumbling German. Switzerland had been her perfect dream, something that she knew would never live up to her expectations. Seattle was a deathtrap, she had seen her co-workers on the table too many times, pain was something the hospital had in excess. Owen had wanted to bring a child into that, something she still couldn’t comprehend. She had been right, correct, but abortion wasn’t an easy choice, it never was, so she heard. It was wrong, but Cristina was willing to give herself up again. She’d be able to snag a spot back in Seattle, but she was waiting. Biding her time, waiting for that text, for him to want her back, home. She refused to leap without looking. Meredith had called to tell her that Owen and Amelia had finally gotten married, something she hadn’t been surprised over, but something she couldn’t imagine. Every time she tried to visualize him with anyone else, it was fuzzy, something she couldn’t let herself think of. Through her (overly extensive) therapy sessions, Cristina knew it was probably a good thing. It was a good thing. The Facebook photos were nightmarish, his occasional messages had stopped long before she’d blocked him. The sun was coming up, and the Owen shaped hole was bigger than ever. 

_ {I’ll ruin, yeah, I’ll ruin you _

_ I’ve been doing things I shouldn’t do} _

His fingertips had dragged themselves down her spine with half-mad surgical precision. Owen had warmth that seemed almost comforting when you were just getting to know him, something you would be scared you’d be burned from later on. He’d left his fair share of scars, scorch marks marring any heart she’d had left in her chest. It couldn’t even beat anymore. Owen was fire and lightning. Comforting. Cautious. A man you wouldn’t realize could break you until you were already crumpling. He had made her weak. Soft. Susceptible. Cristina wished she’d kept her guard up. She’d cursed icicles more times than she could count, Beth Whitman too, for not being interesting enough to make him leave her alone. Kissing him had popped a couple stitches, the first time. He was that type of man who would blur your vision, make you unable to realize the problems and the pains and the wounds. A distraction. Sure, Owen had been a healer too, in some aspects, but there were some things, contrary to her previous belief, that good sex couldn’t fix. God, she wished Derek was alive, Cristina could really use a fishing trip.  

_ {It’s difficult to move on _

_ When nothing was right and nothing’s wrong _

_ You still can’t look me in the eye _

_ 'Cause you’ve been bitten once and now you’re twice as shy} _

Sometimes her pathetic, half-assed nostalgia turned inward. She missed herself at nine, unscarred, clean, stable. Trauma chased after Cristina, around every corner. She had long since given up on lovers, they all tasted the same. If she could work around the individuality, she could imagine Owen, the spaces he would occupy. It used to be same way with Burke, she had missed the way he kissed her, slowly, methodically. If Burke was a campfire, then Owen was one of the seemingly-annual California forest fires, burning through centuries old redwoods and trying to break deep rooted habits. She was such a joke. Shaking on OR floors, not speaking for days on end. He should have known something was wrong; Cristina wasn’t sure which ‘he’ she was referencing, it didn’t really much matter. They were all gone anyways, nothing more than dust and broken glass. Burke had visited her every few weekends, or what was left of him had. Preston has softened, age had eaten it’s telltale holes in his perception. Now he was just another sponsor of the Institute rewarding her for yet another breakthrough. It was almost sad, in a bitterly resentful sort of way.

 

_ {I’ve had my share of beautiful men _

_ But I’m still young and I wanna love again _

_ It’s difficult to say goodbye _

_ And easier to live a lover’s lie} _

He wasn’t coming back. Cristina had known that since the crash. Since she’d recoiled from his touch. Owen was poison and ice in her veins. He was Meredith’s last match, grey with ash and wasted potential. Wasting away was almost natural, she couldn’t bring herself to express her love for him anymore. Every time she tried, stinging scars and burning words seemed to follow. She wanted him, needed him. Cristina had found sustenance in his eyes, and he refused to meet them. Blind touches, looking without seeing; she couldn’t stomach it. Sad but true, looking at the man she’d once substituted for oxygen, she had realized she’d been breathing poison.

 

_ {And I’ve tried to say _

_ Babe, I’m gonna ruin you if you let me stay _

_ You still mean everything to me, to me _

_ But I wanna be free} _

They hadn’t bothered keeping the rings. Since the only happy days their marriage had were the early ones, it seemed pointless to keep throwing them around. Hell, they were surgeons, it wasn’t like they could keep them on when they needed it the most. The two of them had put them on chains, but Cristina never wore it. When Owen had asked about it, they were already well on the road to divorce, he’d never noticed before. She’d left it there, didn’t see the use in bringing it with if he was willing to sleep with other women. Clearing the slate of what she’d always thought to be off limits, fair enough. Why keep something meant to honor a marriage if there was no honor to begin with? Cristina had left it next to the photo of the two of them on his nightstand, somewhere she knew he’d see it. When she’d come back, it wasn’t there, she’d looked. Cristina wasn’t sure if it was her place to ask for it back.

_ {I’ll ruin, yeah, I’ll ruin you _

_ I’ve been doing things I shouldn't do} _

Owen had loved the back of her neck, something she’d never stopped to consider. Cristina’s hand slid under a tangled mess of dark curls and tapped it, feeling for the little sections of her spine. It seemed now that she should get a tattoo there, a little something to remember him by. Cristina had thrown out everything of her’s that he’d even looked at before she’d left for Zurich. All her furniture was new too, she couldn’t imagine lugging it across the ocean, out of a house that wasn’t even her’s anymore. Meredith had asked to burn all the photos, and she’d let her. Nothing left but human memories, fragile little cells in their heads. Cristina tried to convince herself that it was for the better, that he was happy now, married to Amy. She had tried to be happy for him, she really had, but it was difficult to think about, like he was cheating all over again. Kissing the nape of some other girl’s neck, giving her rings on pretty strings. The junkie had probably pawned them for oxy, now that she thought about it, selling the other woman’s crap on eBay so she can have the ecstasy of forgetting her husband’s name.  Cristina was almost jealous.

_ {It doesn’t feel right and it doesn’t feel fair _

_ When I’m planning to move on and you’re still standing there _

_ Don’t wanna keep a secret but I don’t know how to keep it fair, yeah} _

Do you miss me? Do you still love me? Are you lying awake, halfway across the world wishing I was there in your arms? She contemplated it. Owen was in the past. Her recovery. Her awakening. A bad addiction to touching and kisses. Not a mistake, love didn’t happen like that, every relationship brought something new. He was gone, gone for now. Gone forever. They hadn’t even had a proper goodbye. Their eyes had met across a sea, for a moment she had considered kissing her fingertips and pressing them to the gallery’s glass. Hell, she would’ve cancelled her flight if it wasn’t already delaying the inevitable. Over. Easy to remember, pretend she could turn back time, that growing hearts could make her change his. Dream of him, his almost magical not-nearly-green-but-not-blue-either eyes; knowing her, healing her. His methodical fingertips, rough and scalpel worn, lost in her hair and roaming her hips. His million tiny scars. Cristina had him memorized, down cold. She saw him in her dreams, mentally playing back every single kiss, every word passed between them. All the careless ‘I love you’s’ that Cristina wished she could remember, bring back. Leaving it behind was harder. She still smelled like him, and the nightmares weren’t always bittersweet. Owen was the man with the bomb in his chest. He was the gun to her head and the pilot of her flight. He was the explosion at the mall. He was the other driver. Owen Hunt was a terror that kept her up at night, rocking backwards and forwards in bed. He made her sick and half mad with regret. But more than anything, she had loved him, didn’t anymore. There was a hole where she had, but missing him seemed more of a physical need, her body’s longing for his, just to get things back to normal. As if. Cristina Yang’s eyes were glassy, almost bottomless, counting tiny spots on her ceiling. The fan came to a shuddering stop, and for what felt like the first time in hours, she exhaled. Almost suddenly, the fan shuddered to a stop. She would live on. She would live on. She. Would. Live. On.

_ {But I don’t wanna say goodbye _

_ But, baby, I don’t wanna lie _

_ To lie, to lie to you _

_ I’m a ruin} _

__  
  
  


  



End file.
